Who We Are
by gumboLove
Summary: Included also is the prequel 'The Worst Part to this story Just some angstfilled thoughts from Haley & Lucas as they struggle to find a balance between friendship and their own lives outside of Tree Hill. Pleeease comment!
1. The Worst Part 1

The Worst Part 1/2  
  
He never lets you sleep over anymore. At least not in the same bed. There was a time that you held the coveted spot next to him for those precious hours of much needed college sleep, but as he moved on to numerous other girls, you lost that spot.  
  
Which is why you now lay on the couch- staring at his door, willing him to come out and ask you to keep him company. The starch smell of the freshly unpackaged thin bedsheet he gave you as a makeshift blanket for the night only serves to furiate you more. Of course he had been polite and nice and asked if you were okay. But you had learned long ago that complaining about the arrangements would be not only pointless, but stupid.  
  
The college suite common room is bare of anything but furniture. There isn't even a television to distract you from the growing hurt and anger bubbling inside. Pushing aside the thought of the large down blanket and his warm body snoring underneath it, you focus your attention– but just for a moment– on the object of your hatred. No, not him. Her.  
  
Now, you can be philisophical and Freud-like or whatever psychology term there it to apply here to say that "her" is just a pronoun representing the masses (Did you say masses? Slight extraggeration, but the point is made.) of girls he has managed to lure in with this striking blue eyes and charming personality. And how you really just want the best for him and your friendship. But who are you kidding? Out of the large group of devoted awe-struck girls, there is one that has driven you to the brink of jealousy that is, quite frankly put, not good for you. You never knew jealously until she came along.  
  
Of course, there had been girls before you and her, but the guranteed solid friendship you had with him was never something you had questioned. You even didn't mind (too much) that he would never see you as more than the loyal best friend. Yet he finally did. And you were happy and he was happy. And then your worst nightmare emerged. The relationship ended in fear of "ruining the friendship" or whatever nonsense and then he moved on. Quickly, by the way. Very quickly. Which made you hate her even more. She had even pretended to be your friend. Then she took over your place in the bed. You wonder what's worse: Him moving on emotionally or physically. Because everyone (everyone being you, him, and her) knows that her sleeping over was not a sign of "physical needs." No, it was much worse. It was for the emotional deeper symbolic reasons of the relationship status.  
  
And the most ironic chapter of this pathetic drama? He still kisses you sometimes or closes the door and climbs into the bed with you for a little foreplay and action. And then he always leaves – with no comment about what occurred or the consequences or how he or you felt. His insensitivity has reached the point that after he gets his "wham, bam, thank you ma'am," he has the gall to roll over and check that stupid cell phone for text messages from her. And you let him. And that's the worst part of all. 


	2. The Worst Part 2

The Worst Part 2/2  
  
You never let her be affecionate with you in public. Not too much anyways. On occasion, when you're drunk, you'll wrap your arms around her, but no one ever finds it strange. She is your best friend, after all. So maybe you're the one that initiates the affection when you deem it appropriate. Or something like that. You try to ignore the hurt look that flashes quickly through her eyes each time you reject her or cancel plans, but it's there. You know it and she knows it. You can always tell she's mad at you while driving: Silence resounds through the car, a somber expression graces her face and she starts driving a little more agressively. A unsettling feeling usuallly drops into the pit of your stomache at these times or any other moments you've managed to hurt her, but yet, for some unbenownst reason, you continually push forward, as if finding the thing to hurt her is some sick game.  
  
She's never been stupid. She sees clearly through the facade you present. She's known parts of you that even you never knew existed. Surprising? No. Incredibly nervewracking? Yes. But you know her too. You know that excited joyous look that instantly appears when you two find something fun and spontaneous to do. Or her ability to be passionate and determined at whatever she sets her mind to. But you also see the split moment of joy when she sees you for the first time after a long day, and the sadness that accompanies it. You two no longer talk about the problems anymore. Having a long heartwrenching discussion and watching her pour out her heart and cry was too much - for both of you. So now you've fallen into this vivcious cycle of the desire to never stop kissing her to shoving her far from your heart.  
  
So why do you not let her sleep with you at night? It's not like you mind having her next to you in bed. Many times, afterwards, you fall asleep holding her in your arms and it's never been a bad thing. Maybe because, if you really ever thought about it, her touch still mangages to burn through your skin. And when she kisses you, you feel complete, but yet hungry for more. But you don't think about these things. It's dangerous territory. The last time you were there, you fell hard, fell so incredibly deep into your best friend and the amazing stunning woman she was and has become. You told her once she was like a drug- addictive, comforting in the moment, but yet so incredibly bad for you. And the factor that you can't quit. She loves you. Probably more than anyone will ever love you. That kind of unconditoinal searing type that you thought only existed in movies. And you let her, although you won't allow yourself to love her back with the same intensity.  
  
But how does that explain the jealousy that whips through your chest if another guy is remotely interested in her? Or the strange mix of emotions when you see that rare truly happy smile directed at someone else? Or those times, she's feel her breathing underneath you, you won't nothing more but to make her feel what you feel. You know she thinks it's only a physical need, and you let her believe this. You can't even fully explain it to yourself what it is. And as much as she wants to go back to "just the two of us," it's impossible, no matter how many times you promise her things are just the same.  
  
Maybe it's just fear. You realized a long time ago that the biggest problem between you two is her want for you to need her and your fear of needing people. The truth is, you need her. She'll walk away one day. When some man stronger, smarter and kinder than you comes along and actually sees her for who she really is and executes the proper display of affection and love. And you'll let her leave, without a fight. And that's the worst part of all. 


	3. Who We Are

Who We Are 1/?  
  
I don't think I can remember a time when I didn't love him. To have this strange twisting ache in your chest for all of your life is a bit bizarre, isn't it? It's been resident in me for so long that I pretty much can't imagine my emotions without it. Almost like a birthmark that will never go away, as much as you try to ignore it. It isn't necessarily a bad thing, but mroe of a confusing way: it's both marking a spot in your feelings, as well as blasting it full of emptiness. Just wondering life without it there is mind-boggling. What would fill that hole up? But what hole is there to fill when it already makes you feel empty at times? But then again, love isn't supposed to be bad or weak or empty. So maybe the ache thing is just sadness. Here I go rambling again; it always leads back to him. I'll just chalk it up to bad habit. All of it. Including my obsessive desire to want to kiss his him senseless anytime I see him.  
  
Which is why I am eating anything I can find right now. Food is a good distraction. In fact, freshmen year, I gained all of those 15 pounds I was supposed to. He tells me all the time, "Boys like curvy girls." Unfornately, boys don't like me much in that "romantical sense" or that "Damn, she's hot." Nope, I'm just Hailey James- that plain faced girl next door and loyal sidekick of Lucas Scott, basketball player extradionare. And a lady's man. In nicer terms, he's what we college kids call a player.  
  
He's saying something now about some girl, but in my search for food to distract me from his lips, I've blocked his words out. He notices when I don't respond and without a word, hands over a chocolate brownie. See? This is why I love him.  
  
She has that expression on her face again. That one when she actually is listening to me, but is thinking about something else. That something else is usually food. I hand over half of my brownie and she graces me with an unusually bright smile. The look of happiness throws me for a moment as I watch her joyfully devour the chocolate dessert. When she catches me looking, she pauses and glances at me questionably, with a scatter of crumbs around her mouth, but just as I'm about to reach out to brush them off, a shrill sound bounces between us. Whoever it is, she isn't incredibly familiar with; she mostly is handing him/her small talk. I have this tendency to listen intently to her phone conversations (well, her side anyways). I'm not exactly sure the reason, but in some indirect way, it keeps me clued in on what's going on her in her life. As much as I'd like to think I know everything about what's going on with Haley, I get this inclination she keeps a good amount from me. I haven't got much room to talk, but it still leaves me curious and a tiny bit hurt.  
  
She's done talking now and as I'm about to open my mouth to ask the caller identity, she shrugs her shoulders and says it's something to do with the show. In the past years, Haley's gotten involved with the campus talent show. It's an annual event and one of the biggest ones run by students. As much as I bother her to actually perform, she's always been shy about her talent, so she's become a crucial backstage coordinator. She seems to enjoy the time spent on it and told me once, "You have basketball; I want to be good at something too." And I guess this is it. The secret is, there is this miscroscopic fear that she'll drift away into this new group of friends and forget about me. Of course, this thought makes me a hypocrite. She's accused me enough times of not needing her anymore with this so- called popularity I've received from basketball. But she supports me. Always. Even if that invovles eating a dozen brownies in her attempt to pay attention. 


	4. Chapter 2

I know that you went straight to someone else While I worked through all this sht here by myself -Ben Folds, "Gone"  
  
Hate is a very strong word, and I try not to use it. But sometimes, it just can't be held back and it suddenly emerges in my thoughts. At this moment, I can say without reservation that I hate her. Yes, I will probably head straight to hell for saying that, but at this point, I feel I'm there already.  
  
Currently, I'm sandwiched in a group of her devoted followers as they continually rant and rave about how great and talanted and nice she is. Yeah, what a gal. So maybe I'm not completely over the fact she pretended to be my friend and then preceded to pounce on him the second we broke up. And yes, I will freely admit a lot of bitterness probably stems from huge amounts of jealously and resentment, but that doesn't move from the point that I really hate her. I can't even say her name without wanting to vomit. Hey, at least I'm honest.  
  
The crowd finally breaks and Lucuas finds his way toward me.  
  
"You ready?"  
  
I nod my head as we head toward the car. Being the incredibly nice best friend I am, I offered to take him shopping for some dress clothes for the annual basketball gala. I've never been and secretly, I've always hoped he'll ask me. In the three years we've been at college, he's taken her every time. It's a complicated story, but I'll just leave it at he moved on quickly after we separated. Yet, despite this, it's become some twisted tradition that I help him choose the outfit of the night. Don't ask. I'm not sure myself what's wrong with me.  
  
By the time we reach the mall, his phone has rang three times. And the ride was only 20 minutes. Like I've said before, he has a long list of girls that idolize him. And all three of these calls were from girls out of town. I can't understand how one guy can have this many females, especially one with his player reputation. I walk silently ahead of him and block the conversation out. This is going to be a long day.  
  
Shopping with Haley is one of my favorite things to do. She's a quick shopper, goes straight for the sales and doesn't ponder for hours on whether or not the shoes go with the purse or the dress. She's not that kind of girl. And yet, she still manages to find the perfect dress shirt and tie for me everytime.  
  
She's wandering aimlessly around the female side of the store now. In her shorts, t-shirt and tennis shoes, she sticks out among the heavily made-up girls with their tight designer fashion. She catches my gaze and rolls her eyes, giving an indication that we need to get out as soon as possible. I told her she should go to the gala, but I know she won't. No matter how many people she knows (and they all like her), she will still feel like an outsider and the night will be miserable. So I don't push it. She's not one for dressing up anyways.  
  
On our way to the car, Haley quietly reminds me to buy my date some flowers and offers to take me to the florist before the event. I wave her off. She does enough for me already, although I probably don't thank her enough or show my appreciation. She's being unusally quiet today and the inner voice that is seemingly constantly around when I'm with her whispers that it's probably because of me. But I ignore it. Because that's what I do. And life continues on, even with the big elephant in the room 


End file.
